Chapter 25 #2
‘Erm, sort of,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be spending it with my family but, before any of us can get festive, we’ve got my cousin Hannah’s wedding.’
‘You don’t sound too excited about that,’ he points out.
‘I don’t suppose I am,’ I reply. ‘I’m not exactly in her good books. In fact, I recently found out she had uninvited me from her wedding – but only when she invited me again.’
I laugh.
‘Oh, boy,’ Jordan replies. ‘What does a person have to do, to get uninvited from a family wedding?’
‘So, it was at her engagement party where I found out what Ben, my ex, was up to,’ I explain. ‘And I didn’t find out in the nicest way, so I very publicly imploded.’
‘Understandable, given what you went through,’ he reassures me.
‘Not to the blushing bride,’ I reply. ‘Except she wasn’t blushing, she was boiling red with anger. But I’m back on the guest list, and I’m still allowed to bring a plus one. It just has to be a good one, apparently.’
‘Someone said that to you?’ he replies.
‘Yeah, I’m assuming there will be some kind of quality check on the day,’ I half joke, because there might be. ‘So, I’m not sure I’ll find the calibre of man I need between now and then,’ I point out. ‘It’s a couple of days after we fly back. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself again.’
‘Well, I’m not going to recommend you use Matcher to find a plus one,’ he replies. ‘I’d feel somehow responsible, if you got a dud.’
‘Well, I don’t even think I’m going to try,’ I tell him. ‘I mean, come on, after this date tonight, how is any man ever going to be able to compete again?’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘So this is a date?’ he teases.
So much for laying off the embarrassment.
‘I’m joking,’ he replies, nudging me lightly with his elbow. ‘I’m definitely counting this as a date.’
‘Then it’s easily in my top ten,’ I point out with a smile. ‘It might actually be the only one in the top ten. I feel like I’ve only been on bad dates, since Ben and I broke up.’
‘That bad?’ he says. ‘All of them?’
‘All of them,’ I insist. ‘Every last one.’
‘Go on then, tell me about them, it will make me feel like a regular Prince Charming,’ he replies. ‘I could do with the ego boost.’
‘Well, one time I visited Paris, and I was having an absolute nightmare with a revolving door when this dreamy Frenchman rocked up, saved the day and then took me on a dream date of an evening,’ I start.
‘You’re supposed to be making me feel better about myself,’ he points out, still smiling, of course.
‘Oh, just wait,’ I tell him. ‘So we had a lovely time, he showed me the sights, took me for dinner – amazing. But then we got back to the hotel and it turned out he wasn’t even French, he was English, there on a business trip, and he thought I might be more likely to sleep with him if I thought he was Henri from Paris, not Henry from Milton Keynes. ’
‘Ah,’ he says.
‘Yeah, and the irony there is that I’ve obviously slept with way more Englishmen than I have Frenchmen, so the odds were in his favour.’
What was supposed to be a funny joke has actually sounded like me bragging about shagging a bunch of English blokes, and not quite as many Frenchmen, when I have in fact slept with zero Frenchmen, so even two Englishmen would make that statement true.
Thankfully he gets the joke.
‘It must be so difficult for women to put their trust in men after they’ve been lied to – multiple times,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘I mean, what else can you do but hope the next fella isn’t a shit like the last one?’ I reply. ‘The only other option would have been to simply give up.’
I don’t mention my other bad dates, mostly because they’ll make me look like I’ve been stalking him (which, I guess I have, I just didn’t know it at the time), but while I might not like men who get too serious too quickly, or who bleed on me while they’re trying to take off my clothes, it’s always going to be the ones with ill intentions who leave me feeling the most deflated.
‘Wow, okay, so the bar for tonight is super low,’ he confirms.
‘It really is,’ I tell him.
‘Then I think we might be on to a winner,’ he replies. ‘Here we are.’
Now that we’re here, and I’m paying attention, it’s obvious where we are. Well, we’ve been walking and talking, and unpacking the emotional baggage I had intended to leave in my room, but we’re here now, at Rockefeller Center, staring at the Christmas tree.
And not just any Christmas tree, is it? It’s the Christmas tree in New York. The one from the movies, the one you see on the screen, but can’t even begin to imagine how it looks in real life.
It’s beautiful. It’s tall, twinkling, standing proud. I can’t resist snapping photos.
‘Wow,’ I say in a breathy voice.
‘Beautiful, right?’ Jordan replies. ‘I thought you might like it.’
‘I love it,’ I say. ‘I feel like I’m in a movie – and I’m the main character.’
‘Happy to take a supporting role then,’ he jokes. ‘Both off and on the ice.’
‘The ice?’ I repeat back to him.
‘Yeah, here at the rink,’ he replies. ‘Apparently you have to skate here, it’s iconic, but I’ve never got round to it. I thought we could have a go together?’
I hesitate.
‘Ice skating?’
‘Well, I don’t think they’ll let you in with a skateboard,’ he jokes. ‘What do you say?’
‘I should warn you,’ I start, getting flashbacks to my time in Nova Scotia, ‘I’ve only tried it once, and it went terribly.
The guy I was with, by the end of it, he had a nosebleed, was covered in bruises, and I must have checked the news for weeks, to make sure no one had been found under suspicious circumstances with internal injuries. ’
Jordan laughs. Well, I was joking about that last bit.
‘Sounds kind of fun,’ Jordan says as we head towards the rink. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’ll bet I’m terrible too. We can be terrible together.’
‘You seem like the kind of guy who would be good at everything,’ I point out. ‘And I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘I don’t hurt easy,’ he tells me, taking me by the hand.
It sends a shockwave through my body.
He might not hurt easily – the problem is, I do, and not just on the ice.
The thing is, I’m having such a great time with him, being in his orbit, so I would probably do anything he suggested. So, once again, I find myself lacing up my skates and hoping I manage to stay upright.
We head out and, to my surprise, I’m steadier than I remember. I’m not saying I’m graceful, or at all impressive to look at, but I’m definitely less likely to cause blunt-force trauma than last time, so maybe I did pick up a thing or two.
Jordan skates alongside me, looking a little wobbly too. It makes me feel less dorky, that he isn’t a professional either.
‘Okay, this place is unreal,’ I say. ‘If there was a feedback form for dates, I think you would be getting full marks.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ he replies.
‘Don’t you usually?’ I joke. ‘So, is this your usual date protocol? Tree, meatballs, mild concussion risk?’
‘Honestly? I haven’t been on a date since my divorce,’ he admits. ‘So I haven’t been on a date with anyone other than my ex-wife since before I was married.’
‘Really?’ I blurt.
‘Yeah. Despite what Paige might be telling everyone, I’ve been spending a lot of time on my own, trying to get my head around things,’ he explains.
‘It’s not easy. I haven’t even been able to eat dinner with business associates, without her assuming the worst – even when she knows where I’m going and who I’m meeting.
It’s rough for her too, I’m trying to be sympathetic.
We’re actually splitting the business, in a way, with her taking the UK and me taking the US. I’m hoping things will be easier then.’
‘That sounds exhausting,’ I say.
‘It is,’ he admits. ‘But here, with you… it’s the first time I haven’t felt like I need to explain myself. Or feel guilty for moving on. I guess because I know Paige is back in London, I can relax.’
‘I get it,’ I tell him. ‘I thought I was ready to move on way too quickly, too. But then I realised I have this… thing.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘A thing?’ he repeats back to me.
‘I call it my “ick alarm”,’ I confess. ‘It’s not a real alarm, it’s in my head, but basically, it goes off every time I go on a date.
After my ex, after I realised I was settling for so many of these icks, because I thought I loved him, I decided never to settle again, but it’s made me too critical, if I’m being honest. With everyone I date – on the first date – it’s only a matter of time before the alarm goes off and that’s when I know I’m out. I can’t get past it.’
‘Interesting,’ he replies. ‘Has it gone off tonight?’
I stare at him for a second, as the realisation sinks in.
‘No,’ I admit. ‘But sometimes it doesn’t sound until someone tries to kiss me…’
‘Do you want me to test that theory?’ he asks, flashing me that cheeky grin of his.
God, yes.
‘Okay,’ I say, very calmly for someone who is internally screaming.
He leans in slowly, the way they do in movies, where time slows down, music plays, and you just know it’s going to be perfect…
…until some dude comes flying towards us on the ice and crashes into us.
‘Ouch,’ I blurt as Jordan and I clatter together, our foreheads bumping. We somehow manage to stay upright, but my dignity is definitely hanging by a thread.
‘Yo, I’m so sorry!’ the man calls out as he skates off, like his feet have a mind of their own.
We both laugh, partly from relief and partly because, of course, the universe would choose now to intervene, wouldn’t it?
‘Well, that was subtle,’ Jordan says. ‘But, hey, if an alarm was going to go off, now would be the time, right?’
‘And yet… I can’t hear a thing,’ I reply.
We skate to the side, well out of harm’s way. The lights from the tree glitter down over us, casting pretty reflections on the ice.
‘How’s your head?’ he asks me, tucking my hair behind my ear.
‘All over the place,’ I say, and then wince. ‘You mean from the bump, don’t you? My actual head. It’s fine.’
He smiles.
‘Do you want to give it another go?’ he asks.
‘I’ll chance it,’ I tell him.
This time, he doesn’t go straight for the lips. He leans in gently, his cold nose brushing my neck. He kisses my skin just once, slow and warm, and I can’t help but tilt towards him.
He pulls back slightly, his breath warm against my cheek.
‘Still no alarms?’ he checks flirtatiously.
I open my mouth to say no – definitely not – but then his phone starts ringing, sounding a lot like an alarm. We both laugh.
‘Seriously?’ he says, pulling it out from his pocket. He frowns. ‘Shit. I’ve got a bunch of missed calls from work.’
‘Call them back,’ I tell him. ‘Make sure everything is okay.’
‘I’ll make it quick,’ he replies.
I only hear his side of the conversation, but it doesn’t sound great.
‘No, no, I’m on my way,’ he says. ‘Tell them to hold tight. I’ll be there in twenty.’
He hangs up and turns to me, wincing slightly.
‘Liberty, I’m so sorry, there’s a crisis, tech problems, they need me,’ he replies. ‘Can we pick up where we left off later? If it wasn’t important…’
‘Sure,’ I tell him.
I’m gutted, because I really, really wanted him to kiss me, but it’s his job, I understand.
‘To be continued?’ he says.
‘To be continued,’ I reply.
‘Let me get us a taxi. I’ll drop you at the hotel, on the way,’ he suggests.
We grab our shoes and head to somewhere a taxi can pick us up.
‘Any alarms now?’ he checks.
I shake my head, smiling.
‘Not a peep,’ I reply – and it’s true.
My ick alarm, my red flag radar, the mental block that usually stops me from moving on – it’s keeping quiet. Maybe it’s broken, maybe it’s confused, or maybe, just maybe, it’s met someone it approves of. Someone it likes. Jordan. And I like him too.